Page 101 of Then You Happened
“Nothing. Just something I noticed, and I wanted to say I’m glad. You should reach back out to that gallery.”
“That was years ago.” I reject the idea immediately.
“And talent is talent. It doesn’t fade with time.” When I start to refute him, he cuts me off. “At least consider it.”
It’s my turn to snort. “Yeah. Sure. Right after I get through entertaining four men and twelve extra horses for a month.”
“Who knows, you might have some new subjects to shoot.”
He stands to his full height so the sunlight casts him in a silhouette.
Click.
I’d kill to grab my camera and capture him like this. Sweaty and exhausted and sexy.
“What?” He angles his head when he catches me studying him.
“You’re the subject I want to shoot.”
Jack’s laugh rings out, and Will looks over to us. He’s too far away to hear our conversation but he’s close enough to hear Jack’s reaction.
“Only if I get to take some of you while you’re, uh, on your back.”
I roll my eyes and sigh. “Such a guy.”
We continue hour after hour, completing task after task. My muscles ache, my eyes are blurry, and my body is so exhausted that I can’t even think coherent thoughts.
“Take a break, Tate. We’ll get the rest,” Sylvester says. “Jack just gave me a rundown of what’s left.”
I look at Sylvester and know his old body is tiring, which makes me feel horrible that he’s here. No matter how many times we told him we had it covered, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. We couldn’t hurt his feelings by telling him he was actually slowing our progress, so we gave him what tasks we could.
“I need to make sure the bunkhouse is all set up first.”
“I can do that,” Jack says.
“Nah. I got it.”
I walk toward the bunkhouse, my head down, my mind so tired I have to mentally count the steps I’m walking as a means to keep my focus. I don’t think I’ve ever worked so hard in my life, and yes, I’m beyond tired, but I’m also so very satisfied, which makes zero sense to me.
Voices in the paddock have me looking toward the sounds of Jack and Will razzing each other, and it’s when I do that I notice them in my periphery toward my house.
The pops of reds and pinks and purples spilling over the sides of the galvanized planters on my verandah. The planters that have been filled with dead flowers and weeds since Fletcher died are now full of vibrant colored blooms. The life stops me in my tracks momentarily.
I know I have mountains left to do, but I’m drawn to the stark contrast against everything else around them. It’s so simple that it’s breathtaking.
Absently running my fingers over the petals, I walk from planter to planter.
When I turn and see Jack standing at the end of the walkway, his thumbs are hooked in his belt loops and his head is angled to the side just watching me.
“You planted flowers.” I don’t hide my smile. “They look good. They’ll give the Steely guys the impression that we’re put together around here. Nice touch.”
“I didn’t plant them for the Steely guys,” he says.
“No?”
“No.” His expression tells me he’s trying to work through something in his mind. His lazy grin slow and lopsided. “They’re for you.”
“You planted me flowers?” Every skeptical part of my body melts into a puddle at my feet.
